


again

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: "For once, she is enough."Or, Abby Griffin is not watching her partner die.





	again

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just assuming it was a gunshot wound. I didn't watch the ep but I've seen gifsets and... honestly, my medical knowledge doesn't go that far and it's not safe for me to look stuff up, buuut gunshot wound is pretty easy. So there.
> 
> Also posted on my tumblr @electricbluebutterflies.

Not again.

The phrase repeats over and over in Abby's mind, two painful words as her heart shatters. She knows it's damningly selfish to be thinking about her own feelings right now, but it's the only way she can do this without falling apart.

She knew they'd end tragic. She just thought they'd have more time.

For now, at least, Marcus is still conscious, still with her. His eyes are still open and clear, his breathing not great but existent. If he dies - _if_ , she begs, _if_ she is not enough - it will be slow. Not right this second, but a couple hours from now.

That means she has time. That means she has a chance to atone for her multitude of sins.

She slips easily into panic mode, a space she knows all too well. She was good at emergency situations back on the Ark, so long ago now and feels like another life, and she can be good at this one too. If she doesn't think too much about who exactly it is lying in front of her with a nasty wound on their side, if she doesn't think too much about-

Fuck, there is no way to separate her emotions from this tragedy. Marcus has stood by her through hell after hell, displeased with some of her actions but at least he _stayed_. Frustrating stubborn man, did his best to take care of her even when she pushed him away on the bad days, and not for a moment did she ever doubt his love. Even the times he threatened to walk - she knew he wouldn't, but she let him have that ammunition anyways - she was sure of him. Enmeshed and made beautiful, and she was supposed to have half a lifetime with him, and-

She will not, _cannot_ let them end this way.

Quickly, Abby glances around the space. There are resources here, and she'll have to watch close for infection but she supposes the odds are good enough. Better to try than to stand back and watch the unthinkable, and if it isn't enough at least he will die knowing that she fought.

(He will not die. She will not let him. But she has lost before, and she knows nothing in this world is sacred, and she braces anyways.)

Water and cloth, alcohol and tweezers, needle and thread. She cleans the excess blood away, and it's not quite as bad as she initially thought. Clean shots, didn't go in too far or hit anything vital. Survivable, she's pretty sure.

"Stay still," she murmurs. She hopes against hope that the pain will overwhelm him soon; she knows he keeps a strong front up for her, but this is not going to be a pleasant couple of minutes and it would be easier for both of them if he'd temporarily lose consciousness. A bad sign, perhaps, but easier than the alternative and-

She dips another cloth in alcohol and presses it to the wound and his eyes shock back open. Opposite of what she wants, but at least he is aware of her, at least-

"I trust you," he breathes.

"I know." She takes his hand in her free one as she continues her process. His grip is still good, and she knows he's strong, and she has faith. For once in her life, she will be enough.

Now the hard part, Abby thinks as she dips the tweezers in alcohol. Now the part that she's most likely to screw up.

Digging a bullet - no, scratch that, two bullets - out of her partner's body is one of the scariest things she has ever done. The fact that he's still lucid enough to focus on her makes it worse, even more pressure, but at the same time easier. She will get this right, she tells herself as she removes the first and notes that it is clean and there are no fragments to search for. She will save him, as she removes the second and they are equally lucky. She will be enough.

A brief moment as she checks him. Still breathing, heart still beating, eyes still locked on her. A survivor, always, and he will come back from this just as he has come back from all the other times he almost sacrificed himself in her name. The worst is over, and they will fight, and-

She has not sewn together human flesh in years, and her hands are unsteady and not just from fear. Her own physical condition is questionable - the worst of withdrawal is over, but the entire concept is just as much of a headache as she'd feared and she is not as present in her body as she would like to be for this kind of situation. But there are no choices, and she will rest when her partner is in the clear and not a moment beforehand, and she curses herself for being so pathetic.

Thirty years of pushing herself too far, and _this_ is the closest she comes to completely breaking.

She loves him, she reminds herself as she makes short neat stitches across the wounds. She loves him, and she was once trained for exactly this sort of calamity, and she can get through this, and-

"Abby." His voice is quiet but he is still _there_ and her heart breaks just a little. "Thank you."

"You are not dying on me, Marcus Gabriel Kane. I am not losing you like this." She has never meant anything more.

She'll have to redo the stitches in a day or two, but it's enough for now. Enough for her to step back and cover the wound, and she will not leave his side until it's healed up. He gave her that same kindness in a different hellscape six years ago and her entire life changed because of it, and she has fallen so far but she can still do this.

"You should sleep," she murmurs. "I'll be here, if you need anything, if-"

Breaking point. She's pretty sure he's the only person who's seen her cry in the last decade if not her entire adult life, and she's not entirely sure how much this counts for but she cannot fight her emotions anymore. Not when she almost lost him, _again_. Not when she had to face the thought of doing life alone, _again_. Not right now, and perhaps never again.

In a few days, she knows, once he's healed up, she is going to rest in his arms. In the months to come, they will make up for lost time. A year from now, perhaps, she will reverently kiss these scars and remind him of all the times he has been brave.

For now, she curls up in a chair close enough for him to reach for her if she is so inclined and she waits.


End file.
